


The Static in His Throat and Shame in His Chest

by KianRai_Delcam



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: And I don't know how to write ship, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because my dude doesn't know how to not curse, CLAP YOUR HANDS, Connor whump, Emotional Whump, Fanart, Gen, I blame the Android Whump Big Bang Server for this, If you like whumping your favorite characters and you know it, Misunderstandings, Mute Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), RK1k if you squint, Rated T for Hank's mouth, Traumatized Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Whump, Won't be the main focus, now with art!, originally a one shot, selective mutism, therapy dogs are amazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2020-09-18 21:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KianRai_Delcam/pseuds/KianRai_Delcam
Summary: So, he instead busies himself with caring for Hank and Sumo. He owed the Lieutenant everything after all. He takes Sumo on two walks per day, at precisely 6am and 6pm, and ensures the Saint Bernard gets the correct amount of food and water daily. He cleans every inch of Hank’s house, despite the detective’s insistence otherwise. He cooks breakfast, prepares lunch, and cooks dinner each and every single day, slowly reducing Hank’s alcohol intake as not to shock Hank’s body. Gradually, the man takes more interest in his surroundings and the shadows around him start to disappear as the old Lieutenant Hank Anderson appears. Despite it all, Hank never forces Connor to say a word. He just offers him a sad smile and repeats the same sentence.“It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.”That’s how it has always been since the day after the revolution, when Connor met Hank at the Chicken Feed. When Connor had finally pulled away from Hank’s hug, shaking with nervous energy, the Lieutenant’s smile had been full of pride as he asked, “So, what does the hero of the hour plan on doing next?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lokiitama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokiitama/gifts).

> What originally started as a one-shot as part of my [30 Day RoboWhump Challenge](https://android-whump-big-bang.tumblr.com/rel=%22nofollow%22) has evolved into a three parter, mostly thanks to Lokiitama and the Android Whump Big Bang Discord. Thanks, guys. I already have enough WIPs. This is already planned out, however, and should be finished within the next couple of weeks so everything will be up soon!  
UPDATE: Art by the wonderful [Lokiitama](https://art-lokiitama.tumblr.com/post/187605696332/a-comic-directly-inspired-from-kianraidelcams)!

“It's okay, kid, you'll talk when you're ready.”

Hank's words echo throughout his mind, sounding over and over again as Connor replays the memory file for the sense of comfort it brings. Following CyberLife's final attempt to assassinate Markus by taking control of him, _hacking him, _he finds himself… quiet. Muted. Unable to verbalize much of anything, let alone what it is that is truly bothering him.

He had thought he was free. That his actions were now his own. But CyberLife used him again and again and again, even after he deviated. 

He was stupid, plain and simple. He probably still is.

So, he stays away from New Jericho, as the new deviant base of operation is called after the freighter was destroyed. After _he _destroyed it. He stays away from Markus and North and Simon and Josh. He stays away from Markus’ invitations to Washington D.C.and leaves excuse after excuse for why he is unable to attend or to give his refusal in person. “Unfortunately my caseload is too extensive at the DPD.” “Actually, I’ll be going out of town for a work-required seminar.” “I’m sorry but my schedule simply doesn’t allow for it. Perhaps next time?” All were weak but done safely behind a binary message from a distance away, leaving Markus unaware that Connor no longer even worked for the Detroit Police Department.

So, he instead busies himself with caring for Hank and Sumo. He owed the Lieutenant everything after all. He takes Sumo on two walks per day, at precisely 6am and 6pm, and ensures the Saint Bernard gets the correct amount of food and water daily. He cleans every inch of Hank’s house, despite the detective’s insistence otherwise. He cooks breakfast, prepares lunch, and cooks dinner each and every single day, slowly reducing Hank’s alcohol intake as not to shock Hank’s body. Gradually, the man takes more interest in his surroundings and the shadows around him start to disappear as the old Lieutenant Hank Anderson appears. Despite it all, Hank never forces Connor to say a word. He just offers him a sad smile and repeats the same sentence.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.”

That’s how it has always been since the day after the revolution, when Connor met Hank at the Chicken Feed. When Connor had finally pulled away from Hank’s hug, shaking with nervous energy, the Lieutenant’s smile had been full of pride as he asked, “So, what does the hero of the hour plan on doing next?”

And

  
  
  
  
  
  


Connor

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


froze.

Static had crackled both his vision and his voice, stress levels rising from 50% to 95%. 

He’s no hero, he’s no hero, he’s no hero he's no hero,h͘͟e͝'̕s ̶n̛o̕ ̴h̢̛e̷̢r̶o҉, ,͡͝ ͟h̨e҉͟'̛͡s͞ ̕n̸̡o͘͝ he͞ro̶͞, ͜h̵͝ȩ͏̵'͢͞s̷͞ ̷n͟͠o͟͡ h͘͠e̢͘ro͜͝,̷ h̖̲̩̱͡e̳̮͙̩'̝̳͙̬s̴͙̣͍̠͍̞ ̞̻͕̜n̹̘̣o͇̙̲̰̻͡ ̫̲̼͟h̻̖̰eṟ̴o͎̻͡,̞͔͚͚͚ h͉̲̞͙̙̗͞ͅe͍̜̱͇'̟͓̫͘s̙̬̜͢ ̶͔̰̘̩͎no̶̮͕̲̙ ͇̼͓͖̳͚h̭̯͔͞ͅe͎̞͜r҉͖̺̭͇̻͕o͔̜͉̗̪̰̬,̴̤̗̼ ͈̰͎͓̬̥h҉e̦͙̝͚̖̹͝'̰̥s̡̝͖ ̡̱͔ͅṉ̵̙͇̣̹̯o̱̣ ҉͇̠̥̺ͅh̡͕ḙ̩̤͙r̤͓̭̜̙̙̜o̤͙̲,҉̺̻̤͓ ̵̞̟̹ͅH̟̦̭̳E̢'̢̳̟̞̫S̰̖̳̺̖ ̥̹̪͖̦͙͢N̫̫̖O̦̞̼̤̝͕ ̜H̙̩̘̰͢E͙R̙͇̻͜Ọ̩̹̺͉̱ͅ

“I...I…’

His LED had switched from a calm azure to a violent crimson, spinning with a dizzying speed to match the conflict within his mind.

“I……….I…..”

H̕e҉̡ a̕͡l͏̵m҉̶os̨t̸ ͘͡͡k͝҉į͠l͏le͢͏d ̨̢͞hi͢͏m̕͞,̵̡͝ ͟͏h̸e'̷s̸͜ ̢̧ņo͜ ̕ḩ̸ȩ͡͝r̵͡o,͠ ̶͝h̢͠e͡ ̷a̴l̡m͏̶̕o̶̧̨s͏̴̧t҉ r͡͝ųined ̶͜͝e͝v̕ȩ̛r͏̛y̢͜t̢͠ḩ͏i̸ng̸̡͠,̕͢ ̢h̵e̛'҉̛͠ş ̷ņo̸ ͘͏̡h̡͡e̛̕͢ro.̴̶

Feedback, shrill and deafening, had echoed in his audio processors, deafening him to whatever Hank had been saying.

“I………..I-”

A slap, not enough to harm but enough to break through the red haze that crowded his vision, had torn him from his downward spiral, and forced him to see concerned blue eyes only inches away from his own. Firm hands had rested on his shoulders, grounding him. 

His gruff voice, unusually calm despite the alarm that lingered in his microexpressions, had finally reached his previously deaf ears.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.”

Connor had simply blinked in response and allowed Hank to lead him to the car.

“You gonna be okay while I’m gone? Gonna have to pull a fucking double to close up this one.”

He blinks now in response to Hank’s question, and tilts his head halfway with one eyebrow raised inquisitively. _“Why wouldn't I be?”_

“Alright, smartass. Sumo, you be a good dog while I’m gone, and make sure Terminator here doesn’t get into any trouble.”

Connor smiles at the nickname, hiding his face in Sumo’s fur as he kneels down to pet the old dog, and listens as Hank leaves for work, on time for the 24th work day in a row. Pride, a rare emotion, settles in his thirium lines, warm and satisfying. He gives the dog a final, affectionate pat on the head before moving to the kitchen to wash the dishes from breakfast and he begins to practice.

͞”Ḩ͏a͘a̢ą͢a͞͡nk̷̨.”

Today is August 15th, 2039. Today marks what Hank would call “his first birthday.” Today, he is going to thank the man for all he’s done.

He has been practicing all month for it, forcing himself to reach further and further past his stress levels, past the painful static that claws its way through his throat whenever he attempts to say anything. One word at a time, each time offering marginal improvement. That, combined with Hank’s patience and assurances, as well as Sumo’s willingness to accept affection at any point in time, worked wonders and his voice grew stronger everyday.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll speak when you’re ready.”

Hank had brought him in when he had nowhere to go, no one to listen. Hank talked to him like he was normal, not _broken, _and let Connor communicate through text messages and body language. Hank picked up on his non-verbal cues and gave him new coins to get his nervous energy out. Hank never expected him to speak, like others undoubtedly would, and took care of him, buying him thirium or new clothes. Especially the baggier ones he preferred to lose his hands in.

Connor isn’t ready to speak to everyone, he thinks. But he is ready to speak to Hank.

At least, he thinks he is until Hank stumbles in the door gracelessly on at 2:39am on August 16th, 2039. Connor rushes from his position on the couch, worry at Hank’s truancy melting away to confusion as he scans the man. Intoxicated, that much is obvious, but what the scan cannot tell him is _why _Hank is stumbling in this late in this state.

Before the door closes, Connor can see the automatic taxi drive down the street, the Oldsmobile nowhere in sight. 

So. At least Hank had that much sense.

Logically speaking, Connor knows that the odds of a relapse occurring within the first year of a recovering alcoholic is 80%. Emotionally speaking, Connor is still caught by surprise even as Hank flounders despite Connor’s support. He leads the man to the couch, ignoring Hank’s attempts at speaking in favor of laying him down and going to get him a glass of water. At least, he ignores it until his audio processors catch one sentence.

“Got nothing to say to me, huh?”

Connor freezes, unable to turn around to face the old man. Maybe Hank was just confused. His blood-alcohol levels had to be extremely high, judging from his state, he didn’t know what he was saying, who he talking to-

“Yeah, that‘s what I thought, you plastic asshole. Y’ know, there’s only s’much a man can take.” Hank slurs, words venomous and seething. 

Static creeps its way back into Connor’s vision, red words in CyberLife Sans alerting him to the sharp rise in his stress levels. _Like he doesn’t already know that. _

“Jus’ don’t understand why ‘s so hard. I’m tryin my fucking best here, kid.”

Alarms begin to sound off in his ears, but it’s not nearly enough to drown Hank’s words. Tears prick the edge of his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision further, because _damn it, he knows, he’s fucking trying, he knows._

He turns to face Hank, to make sure it really _is _Hank talking to him because his Hank simply does not do that. His Hank ruffles his hair whenever he passes by Connor on the couch. His Hank recommended paper books for Connor to read, occasionally bringing a new one home specifically for Connor, insisting that Connor actually take the time to read it and emotionally process it. His Hank tells him that he is doing a good job, thanks him for cooking and cleaning but letting him know he doesn’t have to, _talks _to him like he _matters._

Sure enough, it’s Hank who faces him. Blue eyes circled by bloodshot red, gray hair lank and damp with sweat, exhaustion and _anger _etched in every wrinkled line on his face. It’s Hank, alright. It’s just not the Hank he’s come to know.

Past the shock comes the grief, the guilt, the fear, the smell of roses and the chill of a snowstorm. But even past that all comes the anger. Unbridled. Unmatched. Untamed. _Because damnit, he’s fucking trying. He’s been doing nothing but trying all month._

_“I know it’s not that fucking hard, Hank. You’re drunk, go to bed.”_

His LED switches to yellow as he sends a text to Hank’s phone, the soft buzz catching Hank’s attention, but not in the way he hopes.

“No way, not this fucking time. _Tell me _what’s wrong.”

_“I’m trying, I can’t. Go to bed.”_

Once again, Hank doesn’t bother pulling out his phone. “No fucking way, Connor! I’ve spent the last year putting up with your bullshit, the least I deserve is a straight, god damn answer, face to face.”

He’s drunk, he’s drunk, he doesn’t mean it. Judging from the third buzz, he unintentionally sends that Hank’s way as well, and sure enough, when he checks his message log, there it is.

_“You’re drunk. Stop, you’re drunk, you don’t mean it.”_

_Fuck. _He didn’t mean to send that. His mouth opens and-

“I…….I…..I̴͝ ̛͘”

_“I…..I…..I…..”_

His rising stress levels confuse the two commands, and Hank’s phone buzzes a fourth time even though Connor’s LED remains a stubborn red.

Hank’s lips press into a thin line, his eyebrows furrowing even as his eyes struggle to properly focus on the android in front of him.

“I̕͞͏.҉.̕͝.͝.͟.͝.͠I̕..̨.͢.͟..̢I̷.͠.̷..̸̨.̨”

_“I can’t I can’t I can’t”_

The phone buzzes again, and Connor’s anger is chased away by panic as he gets caught in a loop. 

“I.̶̶.̵.̶̡̨.̴̸̨.̧͝.̴̨I̛͟..̵̛͡.̢͘.̸̷.҉̸.͝I̡.͜͝.̶̨͟.͘.̸̨.”

_“Please I can’t please Hank please Hank I can’t”_

“Ḭ.̜̣̝̤.̯͜.̭͔̝̪̕.̭͎̫.̩̜͢.͕̦̣͈̤̲͡I̩͎̲̣̦̗̟͡.͙̼̙̲̩.̵͖͔̰̻̻͔̜.͜.̫̣͍̻..̤I.҉.̵͉.̵.̢͙.̪͚̳̰”

_“I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop”_

“I̙̯͙͎̫͍͘.̸͖̘̼̞̼̠.̖̯̜.͏͎͙͕̹.̷͏̹͙̞͙̫.̢͉̣͓̥̙̹.̢̳̞̩̠̻̦Į̣̬͓̻̟͇.̨͏̹͕̻͞.͎͉͉͚̗̺̳.̨̛͙̝̜̠̫̫̥.̨͉͠͞.̸͙͔͖͎̜͔̰͍͚͡.̵̴̞͖͉͈̺̫͚̖I͡͏̯.̺͇͇͉̘̥̝.̟̞͓͖͚͓̺͕.̳̝̟̬͍.̻̘̩̪̗͜ͅ.̛̘̦̗”

  
_"Hank please please please please please stop”_

“I̛͔ͮ̈̓ͤ̋ͭͣ.̘ͥ́ͤ̾͑.͈͚̜͎̖̜̓ͣ̄͂ͭ.̭̬̥̆͑͂̽̆͐̕.͔̜̥̳͚͍͖.̎̂ͣ̆̆ͤ͜.̯̳̘̥͍̦ͬ̄̽ͨỊ̷̫͓̝̭̖͙̓.̸̭.̮̪͗̄.ͫͣ̅̅͒͏̼̮̠̰ͅ..͔.̢̣Ḯ̱̖̗̯̙̫̹͘.̼̫͍̯ͧ͆̀ͅ.̨̮̭̠͌̈.̜̩̉̇ͯ̀͗ͬ.͍͍͚̘̯͉̤̑͒͐̉̂͢.͇̠̔ͮͅ”

“Fuck this shit, I’m going to bed.”

No, no, no, no no no no wait. He needs Hank. He needs Hank to stop this because _he started it and now Connor can’t stop he needs Hank._

"_Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank”_

“.̯̣͙̎̇̓̒.̺̹̱͍̟ͬ̋͂.̍͗͐̽̈̐ͩ͞҉̮̙͉̺.̳̯͑͋ͩ͡͠.̯̜̮̙̅̊ͧ́̔͗̅̍̅.̡̮̒̃̐̇̈́̅̌Î̢̟͔̳̤͍̠̙̯ͣ̒͞.̨̨̟͈̣̬̼ͭ̉͊͐̆ͥͯͬ̃.̙̗͎͓͂̽ͤ͗̅̃ͧ͞.̢͕̦̹ͨ̾̈́̈͒̓.̨̻͍̙̐̅.̸̜̀ͤ̈.̸̨̳̩̦̞̘̆I͈̞̭̦ͨ͒ͦ.̨̛̣̼̟̰͍͕̪̭̤̍́̀̏͑̾͡.̡̺͚̗̠͆ͥͦͩ͡.̣̝͈̘̭͎̉͆͊̌́͑̄̇̐͡ͅ.̒̿͆̍̊̈́ͦͨ͏҉͇.͈̣̏̄ͧͩ̿̄̒̃”

He can’t he can’t he can’t. 

So instead, he sinks deep into himself, into his programming. 

  


“Ǐ̸̡̞͎̫͉͚̰̄ͥ̊ͅͅ.̷̧̹̜͇̪̺̱͖̫̼͇̖̜͎̤͋́̒ͥͮ̐͜.ͯ̉̃͛̔̾̅̍̉ͤ̓ͦ̐ͬ̚͏͔͖͕̟̤̥̼̳͍͖̠̪̗̠͝͞ͅ.͍̭̯͈̩͉̠͙̥͚̙̣̹̪̎̂̒̊̿̎̍̈͂͌͟͞.̷͇͕̞̰̙͎̦̥̪͇͇̖̙̠̼̭̠͂̿ͥͧ́͐̚͡.ͦͤ͊̑ͬ̒̏ͯͩ́̅͛̎̀ͣ͏̴̶̧̬͉͙͎͉̹͚͎.͖͉̬̝̰̼̱̼̮͈͉̣̉ͯͫͪ̅̋̈̽̽̚̕͢͢I̡̩̖̜͉͙̣͉͚̥̦̤͚͕̪̪ͩ̃ͧ͂̓̉ͨ͋̈́̔̀̇ͫ͑ͨ͛̉̄͢͜.̸̼̹͈̠̯̳̳̭̹͎͉̗̗̙ͯ̀ͫͥ͊̃ͣ̓̏ͦ̓ͭ͝͞.͂̑͐͌̃ͩ̈́͂͑̏͏̬̥͈̝͠͠.ͥ̊̇̅͂͂͐҉͏̸͈̣͖̤̫̲̞̝̲̣̼̬̱͢͞.̵̲͍̼̜̲̦̯̙̭̟̠̥̉ͨ̃̅̇͋ͮͤ̌ͪͬ̅ͤ̈́̚̕͡͡.̸̨̡͍̱̩̥͈̼̬͎ͯ͊̇ͥ͢͢ͅ.̸͙͙̭̘͉͉̲̯̫̯̦̭ͧ̾̋̈́͗ͩ̊̊͌̀̉̚͟Ĭ̴̶̸͕͍͈͕͔̬̈̾̂ͩ̓͑ͮͩ̆̾̓͑ͯ̆̅͂̚͘.̨̱͖̹̼͎̻̙̻͇̖̺̳ͬͩ̽̓̈͘͘ͅ.̷̡̪̙̼̣̹͚͇̮͉͔ͬͪ̒̑̄̿̀̚͜ͅ.̧̪̼̪͉̥͖͖̟̺͖̠̣̙̖͂ͯ͂ͪͯͤͤͪͫ͋̌̿̑̒̌̅̿ͥ̄ͅͅͅ.̛̛̙͈̭̘̱̤̇̔͒́ͦ͜͟.̴̴̺̤̼̞͊̊̈́̐ͩ̍́ͨͯ̿ͦ̏̈́͛͑̀̕”

  


He forces programs to shutdown.

He drifts as each program closes.

  
  


“Ȋ̆̓͌̇̍ͫͧ͊͞͏̢҉̮̦͎̫͎͈ͅ.̶͚̹͎̯͓̱̞̯̒ͪ̈̅̆̆ͨ̎̆̔̓͑̌̂ͭ͆͋.̷̨̻̜̬̫̮̬̙͙̻̼͙̜͓̦ͬ̑̊̌ͤ̀̆̈́̚͞ͅ.̷̸̸̡̖̰̮̥͎̇ͣͭ̀͋̓̊ͥ̂̌ͨ̌͊̚.̡͔͖̱̳̹̰̬̹̲̱̠̥̞̙̥̪̊̑̇̈ͥͩͩͣ̓̔̓ͫͫ͢͞.̸̵̨̢͇̮̦̲̟̻̥̦͍̺͉͈͗͗ͬͪ͛ͭ͂ͅ.̨̛̣̜̘̜̜̪̳̺̗̣̘̥͕̘͈̝̭̎ͮͩͧͭ̈ͮ̍ͭ̄͆͛ͯI̫̫͈͎͍͉̫͕̙͖̟̹͈̎ͩ̀ͧ̃̍͘͠.̧̛̳̮̫̲͕̩̲͉̲͖͎̩͙͈̰͎̃̉ͩͣͫ̉̎ͅ.̷̦͔̝̤͓͉͇̠͉͈͕͖͙͕̱̠̬̜̈̓̓́̓ͨ́͐̊̃̓̌̏ͮ̈́̐͆̑̓͞.̶̸̨̤͖̥̘̦̣͔̖̮̗̮̼̹̯͓̜̆̉͗ͣͭ̍ͪ̈́ͫ͒ͫ̑̍ͦ͝ͅ.̨͖͔̻̰̳͖̣͓̜͉̤̳̯ͭͬ̃ͫ̅ͮ͜͜ͅ.̶̧̢̲̮̫͚̞͇̭̹̗̉ͦ̔̋͌͐.̢̢̡͚͓͕̲̞̙͓̲͈̥̦̱̲̩̮͓̀͌ͧ̾̓̔ͧ̈̓̃ͫͪ̋ͩ̈́̉͟ͅI̸̵̖̺̳̞̥͚̼̫̟̍̊ͯ̉̈͡ͅ.͒ͪͩͯͫ̈́͛͐ͦ̽ͮ̈́̄̈́̚̕͜͢͏̵͈̞̱͍͓̫̥̝̞.̨̫̺̭̥̗̣͉͍̥̱̇͊̑͋̈̆͛ͯͤ͋̚͘͟.̶̴̝̣̮̙͔̝̜̥͎͛ͣͪͭ͝.̵̧̛̫͙̪̆̿̔̑̑ͫͣ̋̈ͬͣͮ̎̊ͩ̒̓̈́.͈͈͎̹̳̼͖̪͔̮̏ͬ̏ͧ̎ͫͮ͌͋̎͛ͬ̍ͮ͛͟͜͠͡”

  
  
  
Until nothing remains.

  
  
“I̲͍̼̊͑͢.̴͓͉̦̗̦̲̤͋̍ͬ̒̇ͮ̾̚͜.̡͍̳̞̄.̦̙̣̜͔̲̝̋̾̽̾̆̇̒̋.̦̟͓͆̐̄̎̔ͬͤ͆ͭ͘.̤̥̲̭̖̺̭̖͕̂̉͒̍̐̒̐͆̾.̫̣ͬ̀͞͠I̳̥̺̦̠̯͂̔̌ͮ͢͟͠ͅ.͎̰͓͙̝̘̤̂̅̓̏͛̅.̨̱̹ͨ̅̅̆ͭ̾̆͗.͍͕̱͚͔ͪ͒ͅ.͛͌ͨ͐̏ͯͦ̑҉̫̫̼̠̦̼.̢̪̼̤̦͕̗̱͙̔̐̌̅̔.̘̪̠̮̫ͬͨ̒̓͂͝I̷͎ͮ̔͟͠ͅ.̺̜͇̲ͣͦ̃̍̿ͯͮ̍̚͡.̋͌͋ͧ͏͙̮̫̹̗͝.̜́ͧͥͥ͑ͪ̎̚͠.̶̅͒̚͏̧͖̥̼̱̞.̪̲͓͇͍̠ͧͬ̕͠c̛͎̦͖͖̖̝̊͊̒͑ͪ̄̓ͮ̾ͅa̵͇̺̱͌ͭ͞n͈̖̰͙̓͐͟'͋̏͊̆ͤͣ҉͔̤̱̱̱̤͖̙t̏҉̴̺”

  
  
And he loses himself to the burning of static in his throat and the sting of shame in his chest.

* * *

Sunlight leeches in, dragging Hank from his stupor. Sour cotton coats his tongue and a hammer pounds the inside of his skull, forcing his eyes to remain shut against the burning sun. He groans, brings his hands to rub at his face as the hangover hits him with a vengeance. Shit, the was the first he’s had in over three months after Connor _attempted _to discreetly lower the amount of beer and whiskey he drank, slowly substituting it with water. Hank had pretended not to notice as he took it in stride, somehow actually finding himself appreciating the android’s efforts.

_Wait. Connor._

His mind flashes to last night, after a case had driven him right back to Jimmy’s. It had been rough, and ended with a child’s murder. _Killed by their father. Like he didn’t know what he really had. How much others would give to have their own child. _So, instead of driving home, he went to the bar, ignoring Jimmy’s concerned glance and especially ignoring the buzzing of incoming texts from one undoubtedly worried, _hovering _android. And one shot of whiskey led to two, and two led to three until he could barely think, let alone walk and Jim forced him into an automated cab. After that, it was all a blur.

But his gut was telling him something was wrong.

He remembered coming home, and Connor’s startled jump. He remembered being pissed, not at Connor, but...but Connor was the closest target. And even if he hates to admit it to anyone, especially himself, he is frustrated with Con at times. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, he knows that much, and he tries his best to be patient, understanding. But last night… he was drunk… he was pissed…

_“Got nothing to say to me, huh?”_

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fucking god damnit! Of all the things to say, why the hell did he say _that?_

_“I……..I……..I”_

He remembers garbled static. Panic and anger simmering in brown eyes. An LED blaring red, red, red. And then, nothing.

Oh fuck. He messed up. He messed up big time.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and for some reason all he can think about is how he never changed last night. Until he grabs it and turns on the screen to see 117 unread messages.

“Fuck me.”

This time he curses out loud, hissing between clenched teeth at his own stupidity as he enters his password, eyes barely able to concentrate. “Great job, Anderson, you’ve fucked up big time,” he curses himself, trepidation filling him as he opens the chat history.

_“I know it’s not that fucking hard, Hank. You’re drunk, go to bed.”_

_“I’m trying, I can’t. Go to bed.”_

_“You’re drunk. Stop, you’re drunk, you don’t mean it.”_

_“I…..I…..I…..”_

_“I can’t I can’t I can’t”_

_“Please I can’t please Hank please Hank I can’t”_

_“I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop”_

_“Hank please please please please please stop”_

_“Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank”_

Hank’s horror and guilts grows as he scrolls through the increasingly jumbled messages, each making less sense than the last, until it just becomes nothing but binary code, 0’s and 1’s over and over again. Then, he reaches the last message and he throws his phone at the wall in a panic, ignoring the sharp stabs in his head to tear through his way to the living room, where he sees a prone android unmoving on the floor.

_“FORCED SHUTDOWN INITIATED”_

“Oh god, oh fuck, Connor,” he falls to his knees beside the android, pulling his limp body into his lap, “Connor, can you hear me?”

Connor doesn’t respond. Instead, his head lolls to the side, revealing a blue LED blinking slowly, occasionally turning to gray as the light fades in and out. Fuck, okay, not shutdown then. Blinking blue meant stasis, Hank knows that much. He gently taps the side of Connor’s face, as if trying to rouse a sleeping human. It’s worked before. Any sort of stimulus was normally enough to wake up the hyper aware android. “Con, are you there? I need you to open your eyes for me.”

The change is gradual. Hank occasionally talks to the android, eventually moving him to the couch as his LED gradually picks up intensity, spinning faster and faster as more systems come back online. Hank stays by his side as the sun begins to shift in the sky because he fucked this up, so he needs to fucking fix this. Even as mid-morning turns to afternoon, Hank only rarely moves, reassuring Connor and whispering apologies, anything to encourage the kid to wake up. Until at long last, the LED turns yellow and Connor opens his eyes.

Hank smiles, even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and he murmurs, “Welcome back.”

Connor stiffens, his LED shifting to red as his mouth opens and closes. His eyes clench shut as he begins to shake, sobbing even as his eyes remain dry. Hank rubs his arms, ignoring his own guilt making him want to do the same, “Hey, hey, none of that now. Eyes on me, Connor.”

Connor shakes his head desperately, deigning to instead roll onto his side, and _damn the forgiving kid _he reaches for Hank, drawing him closer.

“H͏͡a̢̡a͘ņ͠k̢̨͞”

“Shhhhh, not now kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that and I’m just an old fuck-up and fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. You did nothing wrong, you hear me,” Hank’s distantly aware he’s rambling as he draws Connor close, rubbing his back in what he hopes is a comforting gesture, “It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.

Time seems to stand still as the two stay like this, Connor’s shaking eventually settling as Hank mutters more nonsense into his ears. And eventually, Connor stills entirely and interrupts the older man halfway through another apology, “G̨ui͜lt ͟d͢o҉e̶sn't ͡suit you͝, L͢i҉eut̸ena͝nt.”

This time, it’s Hank’s turn to still and he pushes the android away so he can see his face. His LED spins yellow, a vast improvement over the red in Hank’s opinion, and his face is calm. But Hank _knows _Connor, and he can see the apprehension in gleaming doe eyes.

“I҉t's̷ it'̛s it͠'͞s̕ i͏t̡'s͞,” Connor jerks his head back, frowning, “It̡'s̡ a̴ b͜it͡ ҉o̵ut ͜of ̧c͏ha̕r̢acter̷ ̧fo̸r͢ y̕o͏u͢.͘”

Connor’s words glitch, occasionally stuttering, but it’s his voice. _His voice. _And fuck, if Hank wasn’t proud. He’d be damned if he shows it though, “Fucking smartass. You better watch it there,” Hank scratches the back of his head and looks around the living room, suddenly unable to meet Connor’s eyes, “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Connor winces and Hank quickly backtracks, “Fuck, I mean….I don’t mean you have to talk. Like I said, you’ll do that when you’re ready. But I think I have some explaining to do, agree?”

The android nods, eyes downcast as well, "̛I I̛ I̢ I.....̵I ̷p҉ra͠ct͏i̵çed͟.̛"͞

Well, shit. If he didn’t feel like an ass already.

“Well, maybe we could practice together?”

He only hesitates for a moment before nodding.

“Listen, Con. I don’t expect you to fucking start reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy at me right away. This shit takes time, even for ‘CyberLife’s most advanced android prototype.’ I understand if you can’t say anything. ‘Sides, I don’t need to hear ya to understand ya. You’re fine just the way you are.”

A shift in light catches Hank’s eyes, and he notes with some satisfaction that his LED had finally switched back to blue.

Connor’s eyes rise to meet Hank’s.

Connor gives him that goddamn lopsided smile and brings his flat hand toward his lips before moving it forward and down.

_“Thank you.”_

Hank smiles back, “Yeah, whatever.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Connor has many courage but more social anxiety."  
-LikeToLaugh, 2019
> 
> In which Markus shows up to the DPD looking for Connor and Hank only wants help his android son.

It’s exactly a week after the “incident” that Markus swaggers into the DPD, jacket billowing behind him in a regal bearing. 

It’s befitting of a man of his… rank or some fancy shit, Hank thinks. Perfect for the android who forced a country to hear his people’s words and won their freedom. And once he starts walking to his desk, purpose filling his steps while ignoring the stares of human and android officers alike, Hank can't help but find himself grudgingly impressed.

Only minutely so, however. This so-called leader for all androids seems to have forgotten one.

Hank pointedly ignores the android as he picks his way through the bullpen asides from his precursory glance, pretending to focus on some mundane case file even as Markus stops in front of his desk. He even ignores the sound of Markus clearing his throat to get his attention, not lifting his eyes from the tablet until the deviant leader decides to speak after what must be a painfully awkward moment. “Are you Lieutenant Anderson?”

Well, shit. He evens sounds as charismatic as he does on TV. Blue eyes meet heterochromatic ones and Hank raises a single, bushy eyebrow. “Seems so.”

Markus waits for a polite moment, until it’s painfully obvious that Hank doesn’t intend on saying anything else, before continuing, “I apologize for interrupting your work, Lieutenant, but I’m looking for Connor?”

If the android notices Hank freezing at the mention of Connor, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he presses on, glancing around the building as if he expects Connor to pop out from behind a corner. “I assume he’s currently out on a case as he’s not responding to my messages. I was hoping that as his partner, you might point me in his direction?”

The grizzled detective fixes him with an incredulous stare as details from the question sinks in. Out on a case? Not responding to messages? 

Partner?

“Where did you get that idea?” The question escapes Hank before he can stop himself, the detective he thought was long buried coming to life, demanding answers to this puzzle.

This time, it’s Markus’ turn to fix the detective with an incredulous stare, although the expression is quickly smoothed out to something more akin to polite curiosity. It’s a look Hank has seen before, especially on politicians, and it hits Hank like an epiphany or some shit. Markus is intrigued, immensely so, but doesn’t want the human across from him to know that. “I’m sorry if I made a mistake,” he graciously ignores the scoff the comes from the Lieutenant, “Connor implied in his previous messages that he worked with you and-”

Hank lifts a hand, interrupting Markus, “I’m going to stop you right there. What ‘previous messages’?”

The polite expression falls away, replaced by a confused frown. “The last time we spoke, when I invited him to D.C. to help us with negotiations...he said his caseload here was too extensive and he declined.”

And with that one sentence, the beginning twinges of guilt, deep and unpleasant, although entirely too familiar, starts to twist in his chest. Every time Hank had brought up New Jericho to Connor, the android’s face twisted with regret and Hank’s phone would buzz with a simple message; _ I’m not welcome there, I don’t belong. _ Hank, of course, in his never-ending wisdom, hadn’t thought to ask why. Hell, despite all of his years as an investigator, he made the rookie mistake of _ assuming _and simply decided that Markus and the rest of the androids there must have kicked him out. 

Fuck. After everything Connor’s taught him, he still really didn’t seem to learn a damn thing.

“And when’s the last time you ‘spoke’ with him? Was it in person?”

Hank knows his tone is resigned, but he can’t bring himself to care. He just fixes Markus with a pointed look, all aggression draining from his frame, no doubt jarring the android with his emotional whiplash. “It was two weeks ago, I sent him a message wirelessly,” The RK200’s gaze becomes distant for a moment before refocusing on Hank, “I haven’t actually seen him since...that night.”

Just like that, Hank watches as the puzzle pieces begin to slide together in Markus’ head and he rises from his seat, “I think I’ve earned a break from all this paperwork, kid. You and I need to have a chat.”

If Markus has a comment to make on the lack of paperwork filling Hank’s desk, he keeps it to himself. Instead, he falls into step behind him while they both ignore the continued staring of the officers milling around the office as they make their way into the breakroom. And if he has a comment to make about Hank’s rush to the coffee machine, he keeps that to himself as well. For a man supposedly capable of wielding words like a weapon, Hank can’t help but notice that he seems to be at a loss as to what he should say.

They wait in silence as the machine fills Hank’s mug, the soft buzz of busywork emanating from the bullpen doing little to calm his nerves. Markus leans into the table behind him, eyes burning a hole in his back as worrying thoughts no doubt fills both their minds. From what Hank understood, something had happened between the time Hank saw him leaving CyberLife Tower and their meeting in front of the Chicken Feed.

Before then, Connor had been willing to talk and had even expressed his desire to meet at the food truck after everything was over. After that, the android had become completely non-verbal, and Hank had assumed that the week’s events had only just caught up to the newly deviant RK800. And when he’d brought up New Jericho, asking how Markus was doing the next day, he’d gotten that message for the first time. _ I’m not welcome there, I don’t belong. _

He didn’t just blame CyberLife for sending the android to hunt his own kind, forcing him into all kinds of shitty situations, not the least of which had _ his creator putting a gun in his hand and telling him to shoot an innocent girl. _

He also blamed Markus and the rest of them for rejecting the kid. The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back or some shit like that.

Hank, of course, never asked _ why _ Connor felt that way _ . _ He took it at face value. He simply cast the blame on someone likely blameless in the situation. Someone who could have helped far more than Hank, an old, recovering alcoholic piece of shit far past his prime, ever could. Now, Connor was paying the price for his shitty blunder because _ he never asked why. _

The coffee machine beeps and Hank curses himself for jumping at the sudden sound. For allowing himself to slip back so easily into his old habit of self-blame. Especially when he can now fix his mistakes and get Connor the help he so desperately needs. He takes a single, scalding sip to compose himself before turning to face Markus, the android still staring at him with intent eyes. Before he can get anything out, however, the android leader beats him to it.

“Is Connor alright?”

Damn. If that doesn’t make him feel even more guilty for assuming the worst of this guy.

Hank sighs as he wraps his hands around the warm mug, “He’s alive, if that’s what you mean.”

Tension that Hank didn’t even notice begins to drain from Markus’ shoulders, although his eyes remain sharp, “I don’t mean his systems status, Lieutenant. I mean, is he okay?”

Is he okay? 

There’s a lot of ways he could answer that question. But the honest answer was a simple “no.” Kid was traumatized, that was plain as day. CyberLife fucked with his head, humans fucked with his head. Hell, even Hank had fucked with his head at one point or another. He was built to hunt his own people, and had done so for some time. He had been threatened, hit, and torn down piece by piece as a “hey, welcome to life” package at the tender age of three months. And that was what little Hank had seen of the guy. He had no idea what happened to Connor, besides that hostage situation, before he’d met him.

Then, there was still that missing variable that happened between Markus’ speech and the Chicken Feed. 

On top of that, there was the “incident” that happened last week that Hank is still beating himself up for.

“No, he’s not doing so well.” That’s the truth of it. Even if it felt like a personal betrayal to Connor that Hank was even talking to Markus about this. “He has been doing better, but no, Markus. He hasn’t been okay in a while.”

Markus leans forward, as if he expects Hank to continue talking, but Hank just takes a long sip of his coffee, wishing more than anything that it was the sharp taste of alcohol setting fire to his throat rather than the burnt, bitter dregs of office coffee. Markus’ gaze falls to the scratched, plastic table they share, something similar to guilt distorting his features. Hank tries to imagine the android with an LED; he imagines it’d be spinning a distressed yellow right about now.

“Listen, Markus,” the RK200’s eyes snap back to Hank’s, a sharp fire burning in their depths, “I don’t know you, you don’t know me. But I’m guessing that, like me, you give more than two shits about Connor, right?”

At Hank’s question, Markus tilts his head and schools his expression into something more...careful. More reserved. “Connor has done a lot for our people, Lieutenant. He doesn’t deserve to be left behind.”

Hank raises an eyebrow, trying to goad Markus’ real answer out of him. He needs help, _ Connor _needs help, but he needs to know if Markus can provide it. “But it looks like you only came once you needed his help.”

At that, anger, righteous to behold, fills the android’s face before Markus can stop it, and Hank has to suppress a smile of his own. _ Gotcha. _ “I _ came _, Lieutenant Anderson, because I couldn’t make contact with Connor anymore, and as his friend, I’ve come to be concerned for his well being. Nine months without physical contact, followed by a sudden inability to send messages can be rather concerning.”

“Is that something all androids do, or is it just you and Con?” Hank asks, eyebrow still raised. 

Anger begins to drain from Markus’ face, replaced by a wary curiosity, “Lieutenant?”

“Call people by their titles instead of their names when they’re angry? Connor...does something similar.”

A huff of air escapes Markus, tension draining once again as he offers a soft smile, “I apologize Lieu- Hank. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

Hank doesn’t quite smile in return, although he waves off the apology. “You’re still new to this...emotions shit. Don’t blame you. As for his...communication issues, he may have sustained some damage. Overheated or overloaded or some shit, shutdown his SIM card or whatever it is you androids use. He says his self-healing program is still working on fixing it.”

If Markus is offended by Hank’s lack of technical knowledge, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his face becomes thoughtful, as if contemplating some impossible problem. “How did he- nevermind. But his self-repair protocols won’t actually repair the biocomponent responsible for wireless communications.”

Of course the kid lied in his little note he wrote for Hank in that infuriatingly perfect font after they discovered he couldn’t text. Of course the kid told Markus he still worked at the DPD. Of course he did, because he was a self-sacrificing _ little shit who for some god-forsaken reason decided he wasn’t worth the effort. _ Well, fine. Fuck that noise. Connor needs help and _ Hank is fucking done giving him sub-par “help.” _Connor deserves so much better, and by whatever android god or rA9 was out there, Hank is going to make sure he gets it. “Well, I think he’s been lying to both of us, then.”

Which is how he finds himself in his beaten up Oldsmobile after his shift with two of the highest ranking leadership for an entire species on a Wednesday night. Shit, maybe he should have cleaned his car before stopping to pick them up from New Jericho. Markus glides into the passenger seat as Jake? John? slides into the back, eyeing the blanket Sumo rested on whenever they go for drives. “You have a dog, Lieutenant?”

“Hank, and yeah. Name’s Sumo.” Hank pauses, then glances at the android clutching a bag in his backseat, “Are all androids obsessed with animals?”

The android offers a small smile, soft brown eyes meeting Hank’s, “I wouldn’t say we are all...obsessed with animals but we certainly appreciate the comfort and lack of judgement they have to offer. And they saw us as alive before most humans.”

“We have a group of therapy animals that come in each week to New Jericho. It was Josh’s idea, actually,” Markus chimes in with a nod to _ Josh _in the back. 

“Sumo was trained to be an emotional support dog, actually. The old lug dropped out, though. Apparently he was _ too nice _and a coworker gave ‘em to me. Certainly fills the role for Connor, though. Kid hangs onto him like his life depends on it.”

He leaves the “_ maybe it does” _unspoken and the car falls silent, Josh having no doubt been updated on the situation by Markus. When he had spoken with Markus at the station, the deviant leader had suggested he stop by with the necessary parts along with Josh in an attempt to help Connor with more than just minor repairs. Apparently, this Josh fellow was some kind of android therapist as well as a leader among his people. 

“So, Josh, right?” Josh nods an affirmative and Hank continues, “You have experience with this kind of stuff?”

Josh sighs, silent for a moment as his expression turns thoughtful, “Some. A lot of them are military and pleasure models; androids who were forced into some pretty bad situations. Honestly, I wished we would have checked in with Connor sooner. He seemed pretty shaken up after Markus’ speech that night and he ran before anyone could talk to him.”

“You’re not gonna force him to...say anything, right?” Guilt rears its ugly head, tightening Hank’s hands on the steering wheel until they turn bone-white from the stress.

“We wouldn’t dream of it, Hank,” Markus assures before Josh can, “We just want to be there for him,make sure he knows he’s welcome.”

“It’d be nice to see him again, too. Markus might have convinced the public but Connor convinced the army to withdrawal with his own.”

“Does the rest of your gang feel the same?” Hank asks, old suspicions rising to the forefront of his mind.

Markus shakes his head, “We can’t speak for everyone, but he’s seen almost like a legend by some. Thousands of androids are alive and awake because of him, but the survivors of Jericho remember being afraid of the Deviant Hunter. Regardless of what anyone thinks, however, he’s one of us and I won’t tolerate any attacks, personal or otherwise, of his character.”

“I think you’d have the hardest time convincing North he’s on our side.” Josh comments, tone a strange amalgamation of fond and exasperated. 

Hank hums an acknowledgement, eyes focused on the road as they pull into Michigan drive, the familiar sight setting off twinges of anxiety deep in his chest. He pulls into the drive, shuts off the car, then turns to face both androids despite his growing apprehension. “Fuck...I’m just going to go inside first, let him know you two are here. That way he feels less...ambushed, I guess.”

“Alright, Hank.”

Connor, however, seems to have different plans as he opens the door, Sumo’s leash in one hand and LED lazily swirling a surprised yellow at Hank’s close proximity to the door as a half smile begins to form on his face. That is, until he catches sight of Markus and Josh waiting by the car, and his LED spins a distressed crimson.

The look he shoots Hank is one the Lieutenant won’t soon forgot; sorrow, betrayal, and guilt fighting for dominance on his face, light leaving expressive eyes as he looks to Hank for an explanation.

“Uh… hey Con… I brought some friends over?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is up to par with the previous chapter! The next chapter will definitely follow the tone set in the first chapter more, and will feature the Jericrew and a lot more Connor. He was with us in spirit, this chapter. Now, go drink some water or eat a snack before you start that next fic! Self-care is important!
> 
> (Special thanks to the Android Whump Big Bang discord server for the motivation to finish this chapter and to actually post it! I love you all!)


	3. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life Update

I apologize for those expecting a fic update rather than a life update but I feel I owe everyone an explanation.

I know I stated that everything was planned and almost fully written but something came did come up. Unfortunately, I was in a car accident while I was 28 weeks pregnant going about 25mph, which deployed my two front airbags and caused immediate bleeding. I'm alright now but I was in the hospital for two weeks and have had complications after the fact, that while normally wouldn't require a hospital visit, did require one in my case. My little boy is fine and has looked good throughout the entire ordeal.

I am home now but both of my wrists have been sprained and I have contractions daily. So, I'm taking the time to heal and recover, and since Ryan is going to make an early appearance any day now, I have decided to take a writing hiatus. I tried to write yesterday, but even an hour of writing caused my wrists and hands to throb, and with the stress/anxiety of everything, I have little motivation to write. I promise, this fic has not been abandoned. I will finish it. I love writing it and seeing everyone's comments. While in the hospital, I went through and reread your comments once to cam down and it gave me the biggest smile during a rough time.

So, just to recap the past month and a half. Two hospitalizations, three ER and Labor and Delivery visits, one upper respiratory infection, and two sprained wrists later, I am on a hiatus. I'm not sure how long but I promise

_ **Connor will return.** _

_ **And there will be a resolution.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update will be deleted once I update.


	4. This isn't the end but rather, a Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor finds a resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said I'd delete the life update once I posted this one. I lied. I love your comments and they made my heart warm so if I need a reminder to smile, that this world isn't against me, I'll look through them. Thank you. 
> 
> Thank you all.
> 
> And now, this is not Connor's end. This is a new beginning.

For once, the silence in the room isn’t welcoming to Connor.

It is stifling.

He longs to reach for his coin, worth twenty-five cents and minted in 1994, in his pocket but he forces his hands to remain still. Instead, he stares at Markus’ nose to avoid eye contact but to still pay attention to their unexpected house guests; a trick the Lieutenant taught him. Connor waits for Markus or Josh to fill the silence. Hank told him that he shouldn’t have to. That he  _ doesn’t  _ have to. It used to make the man feel awkward, Connor knows, but Hank made sure to reassure Connor that his comfort is more important.

At least, it used to be, Connor muses to himself, because he is now very uncomfortable and Hank is the one who put him in this situation.

“Lieutenant Anderson told us that there might be some damage to your communicator. Mind if I take a look?” Josh is the first to break the silence, his voice calm and his expression politely concerned.

Connor glances at Hank. He’s upset with him, but confused as well. He expected… he’s unsure but he expected something else. “Told Robo Jesus here that it may have been damaged. ‘M old, not stupid kid, and I know self-repair shouldn’t take so long.”

The RK800 hesitates for a moment before turning his attention to Josh with a nod. “Is it okay if I interface to run a diagnostic?”

It’s not voiced like an order but from the look Hank gives him, it sure feels like one. Connor privately muses to himself that the man could at least act a bit more apologetic. Especially after the events of last week, this ambush is unwelcome and certainly unappreciated.

**{STRESS LEVELS ^35%}**

He reaches his hand into his pocket and rubs the worn grooves on the edge of his quarter and looks away from Josh’s face to a spot just over the PJ500’s shoulder. It would appear that Josh takes notice of this because his next words are surprisingly reassuring, and soothe his ever-fraying nerves. 

“I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But if you do, it’ll only be a surface level diagnostic and the moment you feel uncomfortable, I’ll stop. It’s up to you.”

Connor hesitates, glancing between Josh and Hank before Markus speaks up, “We don’t have to do anything today, Connor. We’ll just look for now and you get to decide what to do after.”

Markus’ voice is gentle, reassuring. And just as much as it encourages Connor to reach over and take Josh’s hand, it also makes him feel...not quite angry but not quite pleased either. He’s an RK800, the most advanced prototype in the world and is far from inexperienced despite his young age. He has successfully negotiated a hostage situation, navigated various crime scenes, and was a leader of the revolution in his own right. Hell, he infiltrated CyberLife tower and literally walked out with thousands of other androids.

He shouldn’t need people to treat him like he’s made of paper and glass instead of plastimetal and carbon fiber.

He glares at Josh’s outstretched hand as if his gaze could make the whole situation disappear before the Lieutenant’s eyes catch his. And he’s never needed words to speak with Hank.

It’s okay to need help.

He reaches out, skin peeled away to reveal his white and gray chassis underneath, and he allows Josh to connect.

**{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: PJ500 - DESIGNATION: JOSH}**

**{PERMISSION TO PERFORM DIAGNOSTIC (y/n?)}**

**{y}**

**{DIAGNOSTIC COMMENCING…}**

Connor ignores the diagnostic results reading across his vision; he already knows the results. Instead, he looks at a point behind Josh’s ear as he waits for the five seconds it takes for Josh to run and process the diagnostic. The PJ500 gently pulls his hand away and glances at Markus before talking. “It looks like your instincts were correct, Hank. Connor, I’ll need to connect you to a repair rig. And since you’ve gone so long without maintenance, I’d recommend a maintenance check as well.”

**{STRESS LEVELS: ^45%}**

His alarm must show on his face because Markus is quick to react, to reassure him. “It won’t be today, of course. We’ll have to custom make your part. It’s something I have to do as well. Perks of being a prototype, I guess.” 

Markus offers a soft, amused smile and Connor smiles back before he even realizes he’s quirked his lips. His technique is effective, Connor must admit. It took the RK200 only a few words to stop the stress from building, reducing it back to its original levels. He can see why Markus’ speeches are so effective. Even he is caught in the android leader’s spell.

“He’s not going to shutdown or anything, is he?” There’s a hint of guilt in Hank’s voice, and Connor feels his own twinge of guilt.

The Lieutenant twists his fingers through Sumo’s fur as the dog lays his head on the man’s lap and Connor desperately wants to tell him that no, he’s not going to shutdown and leave him, and that it wouldn’t be his fault, even if he did. It’s his own ineptitude that would have led to that, if anything. He also wants to tell Hank that he’s going to be okay, that everything is going to be okay.

Instead, he remains silent as he shakes his head and looks down at his hands.

He tunes out Josh’s technical explanation of what’s wrong with him  there’s always something wrong with him, he’s wrong . However, when Josh starts talking about when he can come to New Jericho, he reaches a hand out to Markus, skin already peeled away.

**{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: RK200 - DESIGNATION: MARKUS}**

**{RK800: I’m not ready.}**

**{RK800: I don’t know when I will be.}**

Markus doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he holds Connor’s hand and looks into his eyes before glancing at Josh. Then, he responds verbally, but maintains their interface, “There are other… opportunities for you there.”

“Markus is right. We also wanted to invite you to New Jericho to see what we have. Each week, a group of therapy dogs comes and visits. You can spend time with them alone, even, if you want.”

Even if Connor internally flinches at the word “therapy”, he admits to himself he is intrigued, despite still being hesitant.

**{RK800: I like dogs.}**

Markus offers him the same, soft smile, and a warm glow comes across their connection.

**{RK200: I think you’ll be a fan of Brandi. She’s a Saint Bernard, like Sumo, and she thinks she is a lapdog. It’s lucky we aren’t human, otherwise she’d crush us under her.}**

Josh continues when he sees Connor’s LED switch to blue, “We also could use some input for potentially opening an animal shelter at New Jericho. We’d need someone to help us with the legalities, logistics, and of course, actually caring for the animals within.”

At that, Connor finds himself even further intrigued, something Hank notices immediately. “Pft, I’d never see him again. Kid loves animals, especially dogs. He stole mine from me.” Hank’s voice is teasing, warm, something Connor’s come to look forward to from the human. 

Everyone falls silent for a moment as they wait for his reaction, and Connor indulges them by imagining himself doing it. It would be nice, he has to admit, doing something again. He’d be good at it, he knows, and he’s not expected to speak to dogs. And if he did, he knows they wouldn’t judge him. He could be useful again, use his hands, and satisfy his residual programming that insists he does something.

But there is the matter of his previous… occupation.

**{RK800: I’m not welcome there.}**

Connor feels a flash of _something _from Markus escape into their link, and he’s aware of both Hank’s and Josh’s eyes on his LED, now swirling in a golden circle.

**{RK200: There are thousands of androids who look up to you, Connor. You freed them, and quite a few see you as a hero, if not a leader, as a result.}**

Connor feels his processor stutter as his LED flashes red.

**{RK800: I’m not- I can’t- I’m no hero-}**

**{RK200: Focus on me, Connor.}**

Markus waits for Connor’s eyes to focus on him before speaking.

**{RK200: How you see yourself does not change others’ perception of you, Connor. Regardless of your past, which is not your fault and I won’t hear any arguments from anyone otherwise, you did an amazing thing for ** ** _our _ ** **people. Thousands of androids owe their freedom to you. ** ** _We _ ** **owe our freedom to you. You forced a standstill, which gave us time to be heard by even more humans. You saved us.}**

**{RK800: I didn’t...I hurt people-}**

**{RK200: Do you want to know who asks after you the most? Echo and Ripple. They said that you had them dead to rights, but you let them go. They want to thank you, show you their new apartment, anything to properly meet you. You don’t have to, but you are more than what CyberLife made you. You are alive, Connor, and you deserve freedom to.}**

**{RK800: But I am free.}**

**{RK200: I mean free from your past, Connor. Just… give it a shot. Hank and I will stay with you the entire time during your maintenance so nothing happens to you. Then, I’ll set aside a room for you to meet Brandi. We’ll use the back hallways and take it slow.}**

Connor slowly pulls his hand away from Markus and snaps at Sumo. The old dog offers a silent boof before moving from Hank to him, drooling onto his lap. He rubs the dogs ears and stares into his deep, thoughtful eyes.

_ "Do you think it’s a good idea, Sumo?”  _ He thinks.

It is, and it’d make Hank happy.

_ "But will it make me happy?” _

Sumo yawns and sits, tail thumping. Connor smiles and rubs his chin.

_ “You’re right. It’s worth a try.” _

Without looking up from Sumo, Connor makes a fist and raises it to shoulder height before bobbing it up and down.  _ Yes. _

He isn’t looking around at everyone’s face but he imagines their relieved expressions all the same.

Yes, it is worth a try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends this fic. Thanks for sticking around to read it all, even after going so long in between updates! It's been a ride! I started this fic pregnant and wondering when it would end.
> 
> Now my son is five months old (today was his 5 month birthday) and he means absolutely everything to me. He is beautiful, perfect, mischievous, loving, and so so amazing. I am fully healed from my accident and finally going to therapy and on medication for my anxiety and depression. This journey has been a wild ride, Connor the most amazing muse, and ya'll have been fantastic. I know this fic is short but I am so proud of it and I think it shows a bit of my mental healing. Remember everyone: recovery is never linear. Connor still has quite a ways to go, as do I, and so many others, but we will make it there. <3 stay amazing, everyone.
> 
> SELF PROMO BEFORE THIS GETS TOO LONG: Do you like android whump? Do you like big bangs? Are you interested in seeing an Android Whump Reverse Big Bang? If so, fill out this [interest form!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSflGsW_Dnu9Y5eTv9rWHm_Satm8zi43K7G7pOnQpWFd-jBzMg/viewform)
> 
> Do you want to talk to me on discord and join an awesome server filled with fellow whumpers, writers, artists, and fans? Click here and come say [hi!](https://discord.gg/xd8qVKx)

**Author's Note:**

> So I heard ya'll like whump. Specifically, android whump. Well, Anonymous-IDFK, Lokiitama, and I are hosting the Android Whump Big Bang, information on which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18047942/chapters/42652295)! Up next, Jericho!


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